Landfalls (14 page)

“I need to see Monsieur de Lamanon,” Lap
é
rouse said, speaking louder than he needed to. “Se
ñ
or La-ma-non,” he repeated. “He's at the home of Se
ñ
or Moraga, Don Mateo Moraga. Can you send word?”

As the steward nodded his understanding and turned away, Lap
é
rouse felt oddly as if he had bested the man in some unspoken contest.

*   *   *

Lamanon marched into the drawing room, breathing hard and already talking. “Monsieur de Lap
é
rouse,” he boomed, “I do hope you've prevailed on
Governor
O'Higgins to let us explore the interior.”

He had a way of stressing a word—
Governor
—to show his contempt for a thing. Lap
é
rouse felt draining out of his head every diplomatic intention with which he had armed himself for the meeting.

Lamanon was still talking: “I had to forgo an outing with Don Mateo to be here. He wanted to show me a porphyritic rock formation just outside of town.”

“Sit down,” Lap
é
rouse ordered, pointing to a hard wooden chair opposite him.

Lamanon made instead for a stuffed chair farther away, and lowered himself onto it slowly, with a show of ruffled dignity. He was in his early thirties, but with his heavy jowls and haughty demeanor, the midcentury cut of his expensive waistcoat, and the top-heavy, weak-legged body typical of gout sufferers, he seemed closer to fifty. The chair squeaked under his weight.

“I'll not mince words, Monsieur de Lamanon,” Lap
é
rouse said. “Neither you nor any of the other savants have any business making, or attempting to make, your own arrangements for excursions off of the ships. Such discussions should be between the local authorities and me or Captain de Langle. At the very least we should be consulted first.”

Lamanon raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Is that why O'Higgins refused us? Because we had not gone through established
military
channels?”

“Governor O'Higgins had his own reasons for refusing you, mostly having to do with your safety.”

“This place is overrun with underemployed soldiers,” Lamanon said. “Surely he could summon up an armed escort for us. Isn't that how colonists keep peace with natives, by making a great
show of force
?”

Lap
é
rouse sighed. Few things were more distasteful than arguing against a position with which one essentially agreed. “The colonists have just concluded a treaty with the Indians,” he said. “They do not wish to risk the delicate peace they now enjoy.”

Lamanon snorted. “Since when have naturalists begun wars?”

“We have no choice but to respect his judgment, Monsieur de Lamanon. I am not going to argue with a man who has already shown us the greatest generosity.”

“So you will not support us in this matter?”

“I already
have
. The governor's mind is quite made up.”

“What does Monsieur de Langle say?”

Lap
é
rouse opened, then closed, his mouth, fighting a rising swell of anger. The man was relentless—and that faculty for homing right in on elements of discord! There was something diabolical about that kind of intelligence. “Monsieur de Langle was at the same meeting with Governor O'Higgins,” he finally said. “He too was disappointed on your behalf. But he understands there is more at stake here than scientific curiosity. It would be well for you and the others to do the same.”

Lamanon leaned back in his chair. It squeaked again, and Lap
é
rouse wished fervently it would collapse beneath him.

“Is that all,
sir
?”

“That is all.”

Lap
é
rouse listened as the heavy footsteps left the room, then rested his head against the tall back of his chair and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, his mouth had gone slack, and he was startled to find Eleonora standing before him.

“I'm sorry to wake you,” she said, looking apologetic but not displeased.

“No, no, no.” Lap
é
rouse sat up, then stood, wincing at the stiffness in his backside. No doubt he was feeling the delayed effects of his horseback ride into town. “I was just resting my eyes,” he said, blinking himself into greater wakefulness. He hoped very much he had not been snoring. At home,
É
l
é
onore would sometimes poke him awake during Mass or at a concert—and occasionally, at dinner with his prickly sister, Jacquette, and her family. “You're the only person I know who can snore sitting straight up,”
É
l
é
onore once told him, half amused and half vexed.

“I'm sorry,
É
l
é
on—Do
ñ
a Eleonora,” he said, piling on his embarrassment. “You came to tell me something?”

Eleonora looked at him, eyebrows drawn in friendly concern. “You look tired, sir, if you will excuse my saying so. It is hard work, overseeing all of your people.”

“I'm fine.”

“You are an excellent leader to your men.”

He laughed. “And how can you tell, Do
ñ
a Eleonora?”

She raised one dark eyebrow. “Many ways,” she said archly. “But here is an example: Monsieur Dufresne tells me you have denied his request to leave the expedition, yet he seems happier now than he was before.”

He nodded. “All I had to do was insist that he spend more time with you,” he said.

It was her turn to laugh—a girlish, spontaneous laugh he was thrilled to have elicited. She looked down, hiding a blush, and toyed with the tasseled ends of a blue silk mantilla draped over her shoulders. Complementing the mantilla was a pale gray skirt. It was as stiffly pleated and pouffed as the skirts he had seen her wear before, but the modest color made it seem less garish, or perhaps he was growing accustomed to Chilean habits of dress. This skirt too had buttons down the front—four of them, large and silver—holding closed a panel along one of the pleats. He was terribly curious about the buttons, about the need for an opening,
there
, but a gentleman could hardly ask.

“Sir…”

“Yes?”

“We are about to take a light lunch now. Would you like to join us, or do you prefer to remain here, where you can continue to work? I can send in a tray.”

Lap
é
rouse leaned forward. “Is Monsieur de Lamanon still here?” he whispered.

Eleonora smiled conspiratorially. “No,” she whispered back. “It will just be the major and me.”

“How about Monneron and Dufresne?”

“They left to run errands in town related to the f
ê
te. They would not allow either of us to accompany them.”

“I should hope not,” Lap
é
rouse said. “We must be allowed a few secrets, after all.”

She smiled with an apologetic shrug, suggesting that Monneron and Dufresne had already let on about the planned spectacle. He frowned. Was even a level-headed man like Monneron so susceptible to the charms of a pretty woman? Of course this was a young woman who had a particular gift for asking direct questions with disarming politeness.

“It is all right,” she said. “I am very discreet.”

“All women say that.”

“Yes, but with me it is true.” She gestured out into the corridor. “Shall we?”

He offered her his arm. She took it with a squeeze that delighted and confused him. He hoped she did not notice his hobbling, postride gait as they walked down the corridor.

*   *   *

They sat at a round table in a small, sunny room that Eleonora explained was where they had meals when “it is only us.” The Sabateros' “light” lunch required two servants to dispense, and consisted of platters of olives and cheese, fresh fruit, three kinds of bread, smoked ham, a flagon of wine, and a savory bean dish the major said was the Araucanians' finest contribution to the local cuisine. Jos
é
poured a light red wine for Sabatero, who took up the glass, sniffed its contents, took a sip, then handed it back, gesturing for the steward to try it. Jos
é
brought the glass to his own lips and took a sip, then nodded and said something in Spanish. He took another sip before handing the glass back to Sabatero. They looked for all the world like two wine merchants, father and son, judging the quality of a new vintage. Eleonora wore a pained expression throughout the exchange, and Lap
é
rouse found himself wondering what really happened when “it is only us.” He imagined Eleonora subjected to meals at which Jos
é
sat at table with them like an equal.

“This wine is from our own vineyards,” Sabatero explained, motioning for Jos
é
to fill the other two glasses. “I worried it might be too young. It is not suitable for a heavy meal. But Jos
é
agrees with me it is fine for lunch.” He raised his glass, then regaled his guest with stories of his exploits in the wars against the Araucanians. Eleonora listened intently at first, and Lap
é
rouse guessed she was monitoring how well he told the stories in French. No doubt they had practiced earlier. The major acquitted himself admirably, however, and gradually Eleonora's gaze grew distant. She looked every bit the petulant young person bored by the too-oft-repeated tales of her elders but compelled to sit through yet another recitation. And then she came suddenly and terribly back to attention, her cheeks flaming and her eyes fixed and cold. Sabatero was relating an anecdote about a company led by a criollo who had been given the post against the better judgment of his superiors and then confirmed their misgivings by proving so incompetent that both the regiment and the man's reputation needed to be rescued by Sabatero. Lap
é
rouse knew without being told that the story must be about someone Eleonora knew—her own father, perhaps. When a servant came to announce the return of Monneron and Dufresne from their shopping excursion, she said, “Excuse me while I go and see,” and fairly fled the room.

Sabatero poured himself more wine and leaned over to refill Lap
é
rouse's glass. “To our wives,” he said.

Lap
é
rouse raised his glass only as high as politeness required, then set the glass down.

“I understand, Count, you also are married to a Creole,” Sabatero said.

Lap
é
rouse looked over at Eleonora's empty chair. “Actually,” he said carefully, “my wife was born in France.”

“But not raised in France. Bourbon?”

“
Î
le de France.”

Sabatero nodded. “It changes them when they are not raised in Europe.”

“I had not noticed that.” What it changes, Lap
é
rouse thought, remembering his family's long opposition to
É
l
é
onore, was their standing with other Europeans. He felt his face warm with resentment—both at the memory evoked and at Sabatero's assumption that they would share this contempt for their wives' creole roots.

Sabatero smiled a wide, toothy smile. “The criollos here, they make very much noise about purity—purity of their blood.” He pointed to the veins of his forearm. “But this purity, it is a—how do you say it?—a fiction. My Eleonora, her family has been in Chile one hundred fifty years. What is the chance, do you think, that her blood is completely Spanish? Tell me, what do you think?” He leaned toward Lap
é
rouse and raised his thick, wayward eyebrows, revealing watery, red-rimmed eyes. “That is right, sir,” he went on, though Lap
é
rouse had said nothing. “It is zero.” He made the fingers of one hand into an O. “I knew Eleonora's grandmother. She was mestiza. Yes. Eleonora has an older sister—you are surprised, sir, she has not mentioned it, naturally. The sister is still at the convent. She is a bit”—he tapped his head—“simple, you might say. But the real problem: she looks too Indian. Her parents make her a nun. And I marry the younger one. She is a good wife. But she is a typical criollo, and she has her distaste for Indians where she should not.”

He gestured for Jos
é
to approach the table and pressed the wineglass to him. To Jos
é
's credit, thought Lap
é
rouse, the steward looked embarrassed and stood by Sabatero without drinking. Sabatero looked up at Jos
é
with unmistakable pride. “This is a good man. He takes care of everything for us.”

Lap
é
rouse could think of no response, torn between discomfort and disgust. He reached by instinct for his wine, then set the glass down. A servant entered the room and announced the arrival of a Se
ñ
or Delphin.

“Ah,” Sabatero said, his face resuming a pleasanter, more businesslike expression, “this is the merchant Don Ambrosio recommends to you to supply your ships. His grandparents were from France, and he speaks good French, not like me. He waits for you in the drawing room.”

Lap
é
rouse required no second invitation. On his way out, he passed the larger dining room, where he could hear Monneron's voice. Peering in, he saw the long dining room table at which he had taken his first meal in Concepci
ó
n. Monneron and Dufresne stood over it examining their acquisitions, which Lap
é
rouse could see included a large coil of rope and a portable brazier. Eleonora stood opposite them, smiling at something one of the men had said. He wondered that her good humor could be so easily restored. He wondered that she had any cheerfulness left at all, living with an old man who held her in contempt and who, Lap
é
rouse now suspected, might be pressing his mixed-blood bastard son upon her.